


Worst Impression

by stevenAstarphase



Category: Kichiku Megane
Genre: Caretaking, Drabble, Drunkenness, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenAstarphase/pseuds/stevenAstarphase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midou didn't think much of Honda in the first place, so walking in on him dead drunk in the bathroom at a work party didn't exactly earn the hapless salaryman any points.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worst Impression

**Author's Note:**

> I polished up an old drabble I wrote when I was really hungover. Actually I pretty much rewrote it.

Honda shouldn’t have strong-armed Katsuya into a drinking contest. Especially not at a company party. Definitely not after having a huge dinner. 

Spitting and heaving what he hoped was the last of his stomach’s content into the toilet, Honda leaned up against the wall of the stall. His throat and nose burned, eyes watery as he tried to regain his breath. He shut his eyes, hoping things would settle. 

The door swung open, followed by delicate footsteps.

“Katsuya?” He winced at the single slurred word.

There was a frustrated sigh in response.

“Not even close.”

Once the voice registered, Honda froze up. Eyes wide, he swiveled around.

“Section Chief Midou?”

The man in question stood by the sink, furiously scrubbing the sleeve of his suit jacket. His cold eyes regarded Honda with a passing glance. Honda felt his stomach stir in a different way.

Midou was tough for Honda to have a definitive opinion on. He cut an impressive figure in more ways than one. Barely past thirty, he’d become MGN’s section chief and was raking in more money than Honda could wrap his head around. Both his sharp appearance and the power he commanded made the atmosphere shift in his presence. Every quality worth mentioning built up an intimidating reputation, bolstered by his infamous arrogance. Admittedly, it was an earned arrogance. Each calculated move he made only pushed him further into success. 

Rich, powerful, well-respected, intelligent, good-looking, and only a handful of years older -- there was nothing about him that didn’t make Honda feel inadequate. Honda remained with the lowest earning branch of the company. He’d proven to be individually competent, but the poor overall results made that accomplishment worthless.

Midou cast a cold gaze on Honda. The younger man knew he looked pathetic. He opened his mouth to excuse his behavior, or explain himself, or _something_.

Promptly turning back to the toilet, he vomited again.

An endless stream of cursing fully occupied his thoughts as he hunched over, coughing.

The footsteps disappeared out the door, which swung closed with an echoing thud. In spite of his condition, Honda felt a pang of regret coupled with a wave of embarrassment.

_He thinks I’m an idiot. He already probably thought I was ‘cause Kikuchi’s rep is so shitty, but this sealed it._

Groaning and grappling at the toilet’s handle, Honda disposed of the evidence. Unsure of his stomach’s condition, he stayed kneeling, panting and spitting intermittently. He repressed the urge to wipe his nose on his sleeve, trying to ignore the burning, oozing sensation. The harsh surface of his sleeve or paper towels would make it worse, and unravelling a roll of toilet paper with drunk goggles was a game of Jenga. 

The door opened. Honda felt inspired to curl up and die, dreading who’d come in this time.

“I’m still not Saeki,” Midou’s voice had a tinge of amusement.

Honda turned towards his voice, eyebrows raised. Midou had abandoned his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up. The corners of his mouth were turned up to suggest a faint smile. He set a bottle of water and a tissue box down at Honda’s feet.

“Last I saw, your section chief was escorting him out,” Midou leaned against the counter, arms folded.

The situation finally registered for Honda.

“Uh, thanks,” Honda reached for the water, rinsing his mouth and spitting back into the toilet. “But, uh, why?”

Half-smiling, Midou replied, “Despite my position I’m not so old that I don’t recall being young and stupid.”

Honda frowned at being called stupid, but he couldn’t argue in his position.

With a defeated sigh, Honda grumbled, “Can’t imagine you were _this_ stupid.”

“Believe it or not I _was_ a 21 year old in college, once upon a time,” Midou laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“I’m 26,” Honda mumbled, more embarrassed.

“Yes, yes,” Midou used a chiding voice designated for dealing with drunks.

“I was gon’ say thanks, but I know yer talkin’ down to me,” Honda’s voice was muffled as he wiped his face, tossing the tissues in the direction of the toilet.

“You already said thanks.”

Honda pointed at Midou, about to shoot back a retort, before whirling to face the toilet.

“...Nope, nope, ok, I’m fine,” Honda flopped against the wall, hitting it harder than he’d intended. “Shit.” He groped for the tissues, blowing his noise. “Sorry. I feel like shit. I fucked up.”

“Yes, I understand,” Midou suppressed a smirk. “Why don’t we get you out of here?” He kept his derisive air as offered Honda his hand.

Honda stared at the expectant hand, “Why’re you bein’ so nice to me?”

“I already explained that.”

“Yeah, but...” Honda grappled for words. “I can’t get home like this. It’s a long walk and I dunno, Chief, I don’t think you wanna walk that whole--”

“I’m calling you a taxi.”

“Oh!” Honda took a firm grip on Midou’s hand, then frowned. “I can’t make ya do all that stuff for me... The party’s still, y’know.”

“The ‘party’ is newer, younger employees who are headed down your route,” Midou pulled Honda upright with a grunt. “Any colleagues I’d be interested in socializing with have gone home. Stop making excuses so we can get you out of here.”

“Sorry,” Honda staggered as Midou took hold of his arm.

Midou silently led Honda outside, weaving effortlessly through the thinning crowd. Waiting at the curb, Honda leaned into Midou, legs wavering, eyelids drooping. There was an unpleasant, erratic vibration against his side. Honda pieced things together when Midou pulled his sleeves down to his wrists.

“Here, lemme,” Honda teetered back, taking off his jacket.

“No, that’s not necessary.” Shivering, Midou put his hands up, “I’m sure a taxi will pull up any minute now.”

“But you’re _cold_ ,” Honda continued struggling out of his jacket. “‘N’ I gotta pay you back for all this stuff tonight somehow, right?”

Lips twitching, Midou pulled the lapels of Honda’s coat back up in place, “Repay me by picking up your branch’s slack work. I hear you’re the only decently competent one down there. Tonight’s behavior better not be indicative of that.”

Turning red at the backwards compliment, Honda clumsily saluted Midou, “Yessir!”

The taxi pulled up, dragging Honda’s attention away from Midou’s indefinite smile. Helping him sit, Midou politely bid Honda goodnight. Honda grinned sincerely at Midou, flopping back against the seat and mumbling his address to the driver. His eyes were closed before the door shut.

Midou watched the cab disappear into the night, arms folded, lips pursed. He hoped Honda didn’t think he would be this soft on him in the future. The man had a very long way to go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Honda said he really respects Midou in the novel. What better way to meet someone you respect than when you're puking?


End file.
